


Somebody to Love

by anotherbird



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, British Hank, British Markus, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor with glasses, Elijah Kamski Being an Asshole, F/F, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank knows how to handle an axe, Holidays, Infidelity, M/M, Markus is a spoiled rich kid, New Year's Eve, Romantic Fluff, The Holiday AU, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, cole is alive, no one is straight, romcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 03:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17072246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherbird/pseuds/anotherbird
Summary: In an attempt to escape their more or less heavy problems, Connor exchanges his tiny Detroit flat with Markus’ cottage in the english town Surrey.Or: In which Connor needs a time out and Markus is a disney princess, who likes to run into things.(Idea based on the 2006 RomCom "The Holiday")





	Somebody to Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is all tropes and no realism.  
> Enjoy.

_I need to get out of here._

The realisation hits Connor like a truck. A truck that rolls him over once, only to pump the brakes and roll him over again, this time in reverse and then hits him one last time and leaves him as some bloody smear on the asphalt.

First it's his job.

There’s really pros and cons to fucking your boss.

It starts with a lot of excitement, the thrill of doing something that’s frowned upon. Feeling special in being the secret. Too precious to be out in the open.

The thrill of secret meetings. Straining his office hours just to spend some time together.  

Connor has enjoyed this far too much and God, has he felt special and wanted.

Until the “nobody can know about us” starts to get on your nerves and you’re no longer a _special_ , but a _dirty_ little secret.

That’s where the con part of fucking the boss of a company, that prides itself in becoming the new Google, starts.

When they always meet at Connor’s apartment, so no one would see them.

When _we just need some time_ , becomes two years.

When you aren’t even sure you are a couple.

And when an office memo kills your holidays, because the whole staff has to work even at Christmas.

It's not that he hates his job. He lives for being a programmer. And he needs it, but the company is starting to drain all his life from him and sucks him dry in the worst possible meaning of the words. He works 10 to 12 hours a day and when he comes home, all he wants to do is, knock himself out and go to sleep.

It’s not helping that Elijah sends him a quick text afterwards saying “I’m sorry.”

 

“ _Mother will hate that_.”

His brother's voice is almost sympathetic and only slightly judgemental on the phone.

“You are there, aren't you?” Connor turns into his driveway. The gigantic apartment complex that houses his tiny home a beacon against a dark sky. “She won't be that angry, if you are there.”

“ _You weren't here last year and you wanted to bring Elijah this time. You can't hide him forever_.”

“I’m not hiding him. Don't act, as if you care one bit about him.”

“ _I don't. And I wish you wouldn't either._ “

“You don't even know him.”

“ _I know that spending two years fucking your boss is a bad idea_.”

“He… really wanted to come… it’s just… a very big company.”

“ _I'll joyfully say I told you so, when the time has come._ ”

“ You have no idea, how to feel joy. I hang up on you now.” And Connor does, not waiting for another snarky remark.

 

 _I told you so_ is also the first thing that comes to Connor's mind when he sets a foot into his apartment.

It's small, two rooms, just enough for a single person or a couple that doesn't mind being unable to escape each other. Connor doesn't particularly like it, but it's his own, so the second thing that comes to his mind, when he spots Elijah fucking the pizza delivery guy into the sofa cushions is _Why here?_ closely followed by _I have to buy a new sofa._

It's so absurd, especially the look of genuine surprise and the hint of annoyance on Elijah’s face paired with the never ending irony , that he's in Connor’s tiny apartment and not in all the other places Elijah has excess to.

So all Connor can do is to start laughing like a maniac.

 

***

 

“How, did it go?”

Markus doesn't answer. Instead, he downs his pint in one go and beds his head on his arms.

North only chuckles.

“Okay, let me guess, then.” She takes a sip from her own beer. “Was it the _only wants you for the money_ type or the _you're so beautiful please do me_ type?”

Markus looks up and impales her on a death glare. He knows there isn't even the slightest hint of pity in her voice. She has stopped with pity, when their relationship ended 15 years ago, because she realized she was lesbian and he had only seen her as a close friend. When Markus wants to be pitied or get some fake sympathy, he talks to his colleagues.

“Poor Markus. It must be so hard to be the rich kid, who got a cottage for his birthday and is treated like a prodigy wherever he goes.”

“I worked my arse off for my job!”

“I know.”

“No one likes me just for me. They want everything, but no one wants to get to really know me.”

“You really are a Disney princess aren't you?”

“Remind me why I like you again?”

North just snorts and pets his stubbly cheek in fake sympathy.

“Okay. It's holiday season isn't it?”

“I'm not religious.”

“Shut up. Use your free time. Get out of here for a while.”

“I've been away last year.”

“Yeah, I remember. But I'm not talking snowboarding in St.Moritz.”

 

***

 

The constant aching that has accompanied Connor through the week has turned into a dull throbbing by friday. He has blocked Elijah on his phone, after this poor excuse of a person has left too many voicemails on his mailbox consisting of begging, crying followed by accusations and curses. And maybe the worst thing is, that he can’t even escape him at work. That he’s constantly reminded of him, only saved by their work environment from a direct confrontation.  

Well, he is safe, until he isn’t, because Elijah has him cited into his office. It ends with an embarrassing shouting match, that's audible for the whole staff and results in Connor leaving with a box full of his stuff - which only consists of a tired looking plant, a goldfish bowl with a little robotic fish and a mug saying _World's Okayest Brother._ Connor can’t even remember, if he has resigned before he was dismissed.

 

**[You haven't called mother yet.]**

Connor reads the text, pours himself another glass of wine and glares at the spot, where the red sofa has been standing for years, before someone on the internet got it for free.

**[You can say I told you so now.]**

Connor’s phone buzzes when Nines tries to call him, but he doesn't answer.

**[Not in the mood right now.]**

**[Are you alright?]**

Connor stares at the words for what feels like an eternity, until he can make himself answer. He couldn't remember, when Nines had cared for his well being the last time. And even asked.

**[Elijah fucked someone else and I just lost my job. What do you think?]**

The next message is nothing but a link, another one following simply says

**[Get out of there.]**

 

***

 

Frowning Markus tips the push up message on his phone.

**[Is the cottage still available?]**

It has been North’s idea - putting the cottage on a site for holiday homes.

**[For a home exchange only.]**

There’s a longer pause, before another answer arrives.

**[I don’t think you want to come here.]**

**[Where is ‘here’?]**

**[Detroit.]**

Pause as the other person is typing..

**[Tiny apartment.]**

Typing.

**[No sofa.]**

Markus frowns.

**[Why don’t you have a sofa?]**

**[My ex fucked another guy on it, so I threw it out.]**

Typing.

**[Sorry. TMI.]**

Typing.

**[Wine.]**

Typing.

**[I’m very sorry. I’d understand, if you don’t want to change places.]**

**[In fact, i would. Bloke sounds like an arse btw.]**

**[He is.]**

**[I’m Markus.]**

**[Connor.]**

 

***

 

Connor has never been to Europe and has never even thought of going to a town near London called Surrey, but although the jetlag almost knocks him out on the train ride from Heathrow to Surrey, he already feels much better than yesterday. England seems to be an excellent placebo.

He calls the number, Markus has given him, as soon as he sets foot outside of the waggon.

“ _Yes._ ” Comes the answer.

“Hi… Is this North? Markus gave me your number. It’s Connor.”

“ _The bloke from Detroit. Just hail yourself a taxi. I’ll be waiting at the house and let you in._ ”

 

The cottage is exactly what it has looked like on the pictures Markus sent him - right out of a postcard and in front of it waits a tall woman in a lambskin lined leather jacket, who just nods at him, when he has gotten his bags out of the car trunk.

It’s not the warmest welcome, but the house makes entirely up for it.

“So if you need anything, just call me, but don’t be a baby. If it’s something small, just knock on the door next to yours. Hank’s a little grumpy sometimes, but he usually keeps an eye on the house if Markus is away and I’m out of town. Just don’t break anything. Everything here is worth a small fortune.”

 

The cottage is taken right out of some stupid winter wonderland pixie dream. There's a large open fireplace, brick walls and beautiful seemingly original paintings. Above a large oak desk hang family pictures and a diploma in medicine from Oxford. The kitchen is fully stocked - it seems that Markus indeed likes to cook and not order take-away on an almost daily basis like Connor does.

Nothing about it seems like the bachelor pat it really is and a little part of Connor feels bad for leaving Markus in his sofaless apartment, but the feeling disappears as soon as he sees the luxurious bathroom.

 

***

 

**[Landed.]**

**[Don't get lost.]** North's answer comes almost immediately and Markus rolls his eyes on that.

**[Funny.]**

It's far from his first time in a crowded big city, not even the first time in a crowded city abroad, though he usually travels with friends or colleagues or visits conferences on businesses trips. He never went alone, especially over the holidays, but since his Dad passed away and he didn't get along that well with his brother, there isn’t much family to spend the days with.

He has originally planned to spend it with North and her girlfriend, but North has been right. He needs to get out, clear his head a little and her ironic suggestion to check himself in a monastery for 6 months, has not been really helpful.

Judging by the size of Connor's flat, he would've had more space in monastery, though.

The flat has no washing machine and, as Connor already told him, no sofa. The TV has been moved into the bedroom, the bed is nothing but a giant mattress on the floor. All of it is the laziest kind of minimalistic.

The fridge as well as the closets are empty apart from a sad looking package of Mac and Cheese, that has seen its best days years ago.

So finding something to eat turns out to be the first mission of the evening.

 

***

 

“Oi, have you ever even held an axe, kid?”

Connor has spent the last 15 minutes trying to chop wood for the fireplace, until he has lost his glasses in the snow a minute ago.

As he puts them back on, he spots a broad man, arms propped on the picket fence. He seems to fight a grin very hard, but is on the verge of failing. Next to him sits a large St Bernard, head tilted curious to the side.

“Honestly?” Connor shrugs and tries very hard not to laugh at the ridiculous picture he probably provides. “No. I have no idea, what I'm doing.”

“Let me lend you a hand then.” The stranger offers and heads for the front gate, the giant dog close behind. He takes off a glove and offers Connor a large hand. At the close proximity he can see the man's blue eyes glistening with amusement, a grin reveals a small tooth gap. “I'm Hank.” The squeeze of his hand is strong and warm. “Hank Anderson.”

Connor maybe stares.

Maybe it gets a little awkward, because Connor is just standing there holding the man's hand in his own.

Maybe it's the way Hank towers over him or the hint of his cologne or his broad and strong frame.

Probably it's the fact that Connor always had a secret weakness for bear types and that Hank could be right out of a wet fever dream of his.

“And you are?” Hank asks after a godfelt eternity, eyebrows raised.

Connor’s face turns beet red.

“Co...Connor Stern.” He squeezes Hank’s hand back and quickly lets go of it. “I rented Markus' place over the holidays.”

“Figured as much.” Hank’s grin gets bigger. It wrinkles the corners of his eyes. “That's Sumo, by the way.” He gestures towards the St. Bernard, who takes a piss on the snowed in rose bushes.

“You're living next doors, right? North told me.” Connors buries both of his hands in his pockets, the warmth of Hank’s still lingering on his right.

“Jup.” Hank picks up the axe, where Connor has left it on the chopping block. “So I figure you need some wood?” The grin is still there, amused but a little smug now and Connor’s brain flatflines for a second.

“Yes.” He manages to get out and Hank huffs out a laugh, but gets to work without another comment. There is nothing but the sound of the axe splitting the wood for a while, every hit followed by a muffled _thunk_ , when the wood piece lands in the basket. Sumo settles down next to Connor and both of them watch Hank in unison. When the basket is full, it’s dark, Connor and Hank both take one of the basket handles and carry it back inside.

They let it down next to the fireplace.

“So let me take a guess…” Hank opens up his coat and stuffs his gloves into his pockets. “You never lightened up a chimney either?”

Connor gets rids of his shoes, coat and beanie, his glasses now fogged from the sudden temperature change, leaving him almost blind.

“There’s online instructions for that.”

“I bet there are.”  Hank’s voice appears suddenly very close.

The fog lifts miraculously, when his glasses are carefully taken from him. Hank, who apparently just manifested in front of him, takes a soft microfiber cloth out of his pocket to clean the glasses, before handing them back with a soft smile.

“There you are.” He puts a strand of silvery hair behind his ear in an almost self conscious manner. “Guess I’m feeling generous today. Gonna light up that chimney for you, so you won’t freeze your arse off tonight.”

All Connor is able to do, is mumble a weak thanks and watch Hank get to work. It takes him a while to leave his stupor.

“Can I get you a drink for your help?” Connor tries very hard not to sound too hopeful or even desperate. He heads for the kitchen.

“Sure, why not. Whatcha got?”

“Beer, wine.” Connor rummages around in the kitchen, until he digs up a bottle of scotch. “And this one.” He shows the bottle to Hank, who nods. The man has shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. As suspected his arms are strong and thick and covered with greying hair. Under the light skin of his wrist veins shine through, as Connor hands him a glass, filled with two fingers of golden liquid. Their fingers slightly brush each other and Hank’s lip slightly twitches.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, Connor falls down on the sofa with bis wine glass in hand.

“So what’s a pretty little city dweller like you doing at the bloody arse end of nowhere?”

Connor feels a blush creeping up his neck.

“It's not really the ass end of anything, is it?” Connor takes a large gulp of his wine, he has no idea, if it's a good one, but it tastes just fine.

“London's just around the corner.”

“Sure thing.” Hank watches a red flame tongue lick at a log. “But you're not really from the neighbourhood. Where'd you come from?”

“Detroit.”

“And you're not spending the holidays with your family or something?” Hank gets up with a grunt and settles on the sofa next to Connor, drink in hand. “Lad like you probably has some huge boyfriend or a pretty little wife at home.”

The laugh breaks out of Connor, before he can prevent it and he downs his wine at a moments notice.

“Sounds like I hit a nerve there. Sorry.” One of Hank’s huge hands lands on his shoulder, only to grab his neck a second later. It's a sympathetic gesture, comforting, but all Connor can really think of, is Hank’s hand pushing him down into the mattress of the bed. It isn’t helpful at the slightest.

When did intrusive thoughts become a thing for him?

“It's fine. Don’t worry.” Connor refills his glass and offers Hank a refill as well, who nods. They share a small grin as they clink glasses.

“I _planned_ spending the holidays at my mother's, actually. With my brother and my boyfriend.” He sees Elijah on his favorite couch - the couch he had spent his first salary on - and in front of him this stupid pizza guy with his stupid cap, bent over the arm of the sofa.

God, Connor has really liked this couch.

“What happened?”

“First my application for the holiday leave got cancelled by my boss.”

“Shite. What a wanker.”

“Then I came home to my boyfriend fucking the pizza delivery guy on my sofa.”

“Jesus Christ.” Hank takes a sip. “You really had some bad days.”

“Oh, I'm not done yet. Because my then ex boyfriend was also my boss and because of a fight in the office, I lost my fucking job.”

“Bloody hell.”

“And the worst thing is, that I had to sell that couch  because I couldn't look on it anymore. I really loved that couch. Like. I bought it from my first salary and it moved with me to Detroit and it was just the right amount of worn-out to be perfectly comfortable, but not complete rubbish, you know. And it was mine.” Connor puts his now empty glass on the table and crosses his arms.

“Okay, so…” Hank props his elbow up on the back of the sofa, body turned towards Connor to look him straight in the eye. “You boyfriend cheated on you and got you fired like a complete tosser and you are sorry because of your couch?”

“It sounds ridiculous, when you say it.”

“Don’t you think that you maybe already didn’t like your job and knew that bloke was an arsehole?”

“The couch got caught in the crossfire.”

“To your couch then.”

“To my couch.”

They both break into laughter as their refilled glasses klink against each other with a little too much force.

 

***

 

Although Connor has left Markus his car keys (and the corresponding vehicle), he decides to explore the neighbourhood on foot, to get a feeling for the place and people, trying to walk out the jetlag that pulls at his limbs and gives him a headache. On the foggy cold early afternoon the streets a rather crowded. People are clad in long coats und seem eager to reach their homes or otherwise desired locations. It’s a feeling he knows from London and he always misses in Surrey. The people are the blood that runs through the heart of a pulsating city, fast and unstoppable, sometimes clotting, ready for an infarct. He has no idea how much time he has already lost, when his stomach starts to act up and roars for something to eat. Since the kitchen in the flat is sad and empty, Markus searches for a grocery store closest to the apartment complex. He has his eyes still fixed on his phone and its map app, as the automatic doors of the store shift open with a soft woosh and he runs head first into someone, who's arms are full two giant brown paper bags.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!”

The content of the bags scattered on the floor and their owner curses under his breath and kneels down next to them. Markus does so likewise and starts to pick up groceries.

“I'm incredibly sorry.” He insists and hands the blond man in front of him a carton of milk, who looks daggers at him.

Great, the second person he meets and Markus already fucked up.

“Look ahead next time instead of on your phone.”

“I said, I'm sorry, didn't I?”

When the bags are refilled, Markus picks one of them up. “But you couldn’t see anything either, so I guess we're even.”

The blond man squints his eyes, but shrugs.

“Maybe you’re right. Thanks for helping.” He gestures for Markus to hand him the bag, who refuses.

“Let me help you, get them home, so you won't run into another person.”

Markus can basically see the distrust, the weighting in the other man’s blue eyes.

“Fine.” He finally gives in with a role of his eyes.

 

The flat Markus is lead to is a mirror of Connor’s, but also isn't. It's as tiny, but far more comfortable. Where Connor’s is pragmatically minimalistic, but untidy, this one is colourful and warm. Inviting. There’s photos and postcards on the walls, there’s cushions and draperies and a giant fluffy ragdoll cat is sprawled out over the back of an enormous red couch.

Markus puts his bag down on the kitchen counter.

“I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Markus.” On their whole way to the apartment Markus has been the only one talking, what has mostly included questions about the whereabouts of the city, that stayed unanswered.

“Simon.” The other responds, without so much as looking at him.

“Maybe I can make up for it by cooking something for you?” Markus tries with his most dashing smile and a broad gesture towards the kitchen.

“No. I am really busy.” Simon continues to unpack and ignore him.

“Okay…” Markus shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I'll leave you to it then.”

“Let yourself out.”

 

***

 

Connor has no idea, where the time has gone. Hank has ordered something to eat after a while, both of them ignoring the fully stacked kitchen in favor of some greasy pizza.

But now it is almost midnight and it has begun to snow outside. Due to the fire the cottage is comfortably warm. Sumo is snoring on a rug in front of the fireplace.

Both Connor and Hank are comfortably drunk. Not too drunk to lose control, but enough to lower their walls, enough that Connor’s glances towards the bulge in Hank’s jeans have stopped being shy in any way.

“God, it’s late. Maybe I should get home.” Hank doesn’t make any move towards standing up, just drapes his arms over the back of the couch.

Connor puts a hand on Hank’s chest and leans in close enough, that his nose brushes Hank’s cheek. He can hear him draw in a sharp breath.

“Or maybe you should stay.”

Before Hank gets the chance to reply anything, Connor closes the distance between them and puts his lips on his. He only teases him at first. Hank isn’t shy to kiss him back, almost claiming him as he pulls him closer, one hand grabbing his curls, until Connor has to climb onto his lap. Hank’s free hand immediately lands on his ass.

When Connor starts to open the buttons of Hank’s flannel shirt, Hank breaks the kiss and pushes him just far enough away, that Connor can't keep kissing him. Connor growls in frustration.

“Okay, pause.”

“What?”

“You sure you wanna do this? We're both a little drunk and I don't want to exploit your emotional state.”

“Okay.” Connor puts an arm around Hank’s neck. “I lost my job, I got cheated on by my asshole boyfriend boss and I had to sell my couch. So…” Connor leans back a little, so he can let his fingers wander. Over the side of Hank’s neck, over his chest and belly, until he can cup Hank’s half hard cock through his pants. Hank draws in a sudden harsh breath.

“...I would really appreciate it if you exploited my emotional state and fuck me senseless.”

Hank doesn't waste time with an answer, but heaves Connor up with him, who wraps his arms and legs around Hank’s body, but can't suppress an almost ridiculous squeak, that immediately turns into a breathy laugh.

 

***

 

Markus doesn't believe in fate or some higher power. He believes in science and circumstance. If he had any faith in the past, it has died, when he lost his first patient, who couldn't pay for a surgery that would have saved her life, while his father defied all life expectancies and outlived them by years, because he could afford personal medical care.

He also learned quickly, that wealth wasn't everything, when he got arrested on his own home street and the Charlies didn't believe him, that Karl Manfred was his father so he had every right to be there. So faith has never been a really reliable thing for him.

So when he opens the door to a tiny cafe in his running gear, sweaty and a little out of breath and all but crashes into Simon, almost tumbling both of them over, Markus doesn't think, that it's fate. Especially because Simon glares at him the way he does.

“Let me guess: you're sorry.” Simon doesn’t sound amused at all.

“Yes.”

“Is there like a target on my back?”

“No.”

“Are you some kind of stalker?”

“No!” Markus exclaims now mildly offended. “Why don't you let me buy you a coffee..”

Simon stops him mid sentence.

“Okay, listen. You are the kind of guy that usually gets what and who he wants.”

Markus opens his mouth to protest, but is silenced by Simon immediately.

“It’s fine, I get it. I have eyes. If you’re really interested in making up for it, you can lend us a hand tonight. There’s a charity auction.”

Simon hands him a colourful, but crumpled flyer advertising a party in a bar called Jericho. All profit from the auction will apparently benefit the Safe, Brave Space of LGBT Detroit.

Markus has never been much of a community person. Once a year he lets North drag him to the London Pride, where she takes part in the Dykes on Bikes part of the parade and he gets himself laid, but that has been about it.

“I’ll be there.” Markus promises.

“Good. Make yourself useful.”

 

***

 

Morning afters are a horrible thing.

They are always kinda awkward.

One person has to put on their last day's clothes.

You have to talk about what you're going to do. About attached strings.

Sometimes you have this conversation dressed in a fluffy bathrobe, hair still damp and after the person, who has spent the night, has fucked you against the glass wall of a ridiculously large luxurious shower.

So now Connor offers Hank a cup of far too strong black coffee and craves for his first cigarette in five years. Hank takes the cup -  it looks far smaller in his hand than in Connor’s - takes a sip, only to grimace and put it away on the kitchen counter, on which Connor is sitting.

Hank clears his throat and buries his hands into his jeans pockets and Connor is absolutely not following his hands with his eyes or lets his gaze linger a little too long on his crotch.

“So you know how to light the chimney next time?”

“Yes.” Connor takes a large swallow of his coffee and burns is tongue in the process.

“So you’re here until…”

“New Years Eve. I'm leaving on morning of New Years Eve.”

Hank’s hair, that has already started to dry, gets curly.

“So, it's all fine.”

Connor nods and tucks at Hank’s shirt, pulls him a little closer. .

“Maybe I need help with my wood again.”

Hank’s snorts, but settles between Connor’s thighs anyway, hands still in his pockets.

“Maybe I’ll help you with it, if you earn it.”

Just as he leans in for a kiss, Hank’s phone starts ringing in his pocket. He takes it out, glances on the screen and his demeanour changes. He closes up.

“Sorry, I really need to go.” Hank pulls away, to get his coat and boots. It makes Sumo stand up from his place in front of the fireplace. Just before he leaves, he returns to where Connor is still sitting  on the kitchen counter and after a short hesitation gently kisses his forehead.

“I know you're here to be a hermit or something, but I'm seeing some friends tonight at the pub. If you want to, join us.”

 

***

 

Markus can’t remember that he has signed a form saying that he can only meet people by literally running into them, but that doesn’t change the fact that he runs into an unknown man, when he leaves the flat. The stranger eyes him with irritation. He matches an undercut and a manbun, that screams midlife crisis, with an armani suit - Markus knows because he owns the same one.

“You’re not Connor.”

“What gave it away? It was the clothes, wasn’t it?”

“What are you doing in his flat?”

“I broke in. He’s handcuffed and gagged in the cellar now.”

The man grins.

“You’re funny.”

“I’m really not. And I didn’t really break in.”

“Do you want to grab a drink?”

Markus stares at him in disbelief for a second.

“I do not. I have a date actually.”

“You would really miss out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t need someone to show you the city?”

“You’re not used to hearing the word ‘no’ are you?” Markus tilts his head, then shakes it in disbelief and snorts, when he realizes how his words mirror those that Simon told him earlier. Then he leaves without another word.

 

Jericho is kind of what Markus expected it to be. The kind of bar that will turn into a club during the evening with the most colourful crowd you can imagine and it’s filling up slowly. A middle aged man in a leather jog strap and a Santa hat  bumps into him and apologises politely, then proceeds to carry a box of liquor towards the bar. He spots Simon with Traci, the blue haired girl, that has given him Connor’s keys, and a woman with a PFLAG shirt next to a stage and gets over to him.

“Hi.” Markus smiles at Simon, who returns it politely.

“Oh, aren't you the guy who rented Connor’s flat?” Traci greets him surprised. “Didn't know, you two knew each other?”

“We don't.” Simon quips, but keeps smiling at Markus anyway. “He just has a tendency of running into me, so I thought he could make up for it.”

“We need any help we can get.” The other woman shakes his hand and introduces herself as Rose.

Simon has been serious about needing Markus to help. He puts up decorations, brings drinks to two drag queens, who get themselves ready backstage and tries to remember all the names, he gets told like Josh, who works the bar tonight, Tina, Ralph and Jerry.

It all becomes a blur, until the show is almost about to start and Markus has a moment to take a breather, beer in hand,  and talk to Simon, who is - when not run into - a joy to talk to. There seems to be no one he doesn’t know, no one he couldn’t at least say two words about. Apparently he’s working at a bakery around the corner, when not invested in organising social events, but it’s hard to say, what he’s more passionate for. It’s a nice change, to be the one just listening.

Well, until Josh shows up with really bad news.

“Rupert broke his foot. He's not coming.”

“What do you mean, he’s not coming?” Simon’s voice verges on the hysteric. “He was meant to help Devina host. You know she will freak out, if she has to do it alone. It was her one condition, not to do it alone.”

Josh’s shoots a help seeking look at Markus, who does the first thing that comes to his mind, which is obviously the most stupid thing to do.

“I can do it.”

Josh just stares at him, eyes screaming _What the fuck, man?_ , but Simon doesn’t react.

Markus grabs him by the shoulders and catches his gaze. He can see Simon jumping between his eyes. Markus is used to that, with the heterochromia a lot of people find it hard to concentrate on one of them. Finally Simon settles on his lips and that’s nothing Markus will complain about.

“Listen, Simon. I can do this.” He has literally no idea how or if he can do that. He’s not really afraid of talking in front of a crowd, but he never did so under such… circumstances. Meaning co-hosting a charity auction with a drag queen in a new city in front of complete strangers.

He held a speech for his football team once. that must have been good for something, mustn’t it?

It will work out just fine.

 

In hindsight _fine_ wouldn’t be the word Markus would use to describe this evening.

Markus actually has no word that would accurately describe this evening.

He has no idea, what he was doing.

Maybe he has danced at some point.

Around the end his shirt is sold in the auction for 20 dollars by an anonymous bidder and he spends the rest of the show shirtless.

But it doesn’t matter in the end, because when he searches the crowd and finds Simon helping Josh behind the bar and they lock eyes for a second, they grin at each other. So it somehow is perfect, how weird all of his may be and even though he ends up being just called the pretty brit.

 

The stairs at the back door are a nice and mostly calm change of pace in contrast. The show inside is over and is slowly turning into a loud party. He got a zipped up hoodie from a tall woman with an undercut to make up for the loss of his shirt.

A beer bottle appears in his field of vision and as he takes it, Simon settles down next to him on the cold floor.

“A for effort.”

Markus takes an offended look.

“I literally gave my shirt for the good cause in there. Give me some credit.”

Simon chuckles and they klink bottles.

“Seriously. Thank you. I have no idea, what we would have done without you.”

“Why didn't you do it?” Markus takes a large gulp from his bottle.

“Crowds aren't my thing. I'm happy to just work in the background, while people like you take all the credit.” Simon takes the edge of with a soft shove of his knee.

Comfortable silence spreads between them, but the cold slowly starts to creep into Markus’ bones.

“So do you have family here or how do you spend Christmas Eve?” Simon asks all of a sudden and Markus tries to figure out, what his expression means.

“No, actually. My Dad passed away last year and I'm not really close to my brother or my mother so…” He shrugs. “Guess it's just me. What about you?”

Simon has begun to pick at the label of his bottle.

“There's a huge getting together at the community center. It's not really religious, so we're kind of celebrating everything at once and everyone cooks something and brings it with them. There's a lot of people, who have no home to go to or for whom the people there are family. It very cozy.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Maybe you can come?”

“I would love to.”

They just smile at each other quietly for a while.

“You can take your shirt off, too, if you want.” Simon adds with a shy grin.

 

 

***

 

Connor shouldn't have picked up his phone. Not tucked between tying his shoes and putting on his jacket and on his way to leave for the pub.

The number is unknown to him and honestly, that should have been hint enough.

“Connor.”

Elijah's voice knocks the air out of his lungs. He freezes mid movement.

“Connor, don't hang up on me.”

He knows, he should. He shouldn't have picked up in the beginning and now he should hang up.

But he doesn't.

He's on the other side of the planet and apparently he can't just escape.

So he just stands there, motionless, one shoe in his hand.

“Connor, are you still there?”

“Yes.” It's all he brings out.

It's a dejavu of the worst kind.

Hank has been right, when he has suggested he cared about the couch.

He has cared so much about the couch, because it hadn't been the first time, that Elijah couldn't keep it in his pants. He has called it quits the last time, too, it lasted for a week, but Elijah has wormed his way back into his life with apologies and promises and it has seemed to work out well.

It has been one mistake and what is one mistake in the whole meaning of things.

So he has ignored Nines constantly telling him, that he was making a mistake and that he needed someone, who respected him.

“Connor, I was at your apartment today.”

He knows the tactic. The way he repeats his name, to snake his way into his head again.

“I was surprised to learn you weren't at home. I worry about you. Are you with your family?”

Connor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He tries to calm his breathing, begs his heart to slow down and his hands to stop sweating.

This isn’t love. Love shouldn’t feel like it’s suffocating him. Like a panic attack about to happen.  

“Elijah.”

“I have shifted working hours. Why don't we meet tomorrow and visit your family together, just as we planned.”

“Because my brother would cut your testicles off and I'm in England.”

There’s a short pause.

“Connor, is there anything I can do?”

“Yes.” Connor opens his eyes again. His voice his calm. “Leave me alone and never contact me again.”

 

When Connor opens the doors of the pub and his glasses fog, he already feels a little tipsy. Partially it's because he really just put the last nail into the coffin that had been his and Elijah's unhealthy relationship,  but most of it is due to the 3 glasses of wine he has drunk and the cigarettes he has smoked on his way here.

Hank waves him over to a corner table and his beaming face immediately puts a smile on Connor’s lips. Hank introduces the others to him as soon, as he sits down.

There's North, who he already knows.

Kara, North's girlfriend and a colleague of Hank’s at the Highschool in Surrey and next to her Luther, a giant of a man, who greets him with a soft and welcoming smile.

“And here I thought, he wouldn't want to hang out with the townsfolk.” Hank pets his back right between the shoulder blades in a way that could also be fatherly and only Connor can notice, how is thump brushes over his neck slightly as he takes his paw away again.

“Who could fault him?” North cocks an eyebrow.

 

Connor has to admit, that the evening turns out to be perfect. North - though sometimes harsh and a little intimidating - is a great story teller. Luther, although mostly quiet, has the warmest and most infectious laugh, Connor ever encountered and Hank and Kara talking about their pupils has Connor on the verge of tears with amusement several times. For the last round before closing hour Ben, the owner of the pub, joins them for a pint as well as Chris, a teacher of Kara's daughter.

As he strolls with Hank into the direction of the cottage, he feels the evening buzzing into this chest, the laughter still linger. Sometimes their hands brush each other and they share conspiratorial smile.

Connor can't remember the last time he has had an evening like that, neither with friends and especially not with people, he has just met.

“Connor, are you okay?”

Hank’s question as they stop at the front gate to Markus’ cottage, seems to come out of nowhere.  

It leaves Connor blinking in surprise.

“Why?”

“You seemed...distracted, when you came in.”

“I…” Connor has to actively remember Elijah’s call. “The asshole boss ex called.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Hank gently brushes a curl of hair out of Connor’s face.

“No reason. He tried to make me take him back.”

“Did it work?”

“I did that once.” Connor shrugs. “No, I told him to fuck off.” He feels the alcohol get to his head and leans his forehead against Hank’s shoulder in support, breathing in the faint smell of his cologne and something that's just Hank, that is hard to describe, but that somehow comforts him.

“Good.” Hank puts an arm around him.

“He doesn't even love me, he just can't stand losing.”

“And how about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you still love him?”

Connor looks up and the answer is almost too easy. Why is it so easy?

“No. I guess, I haven't in a while. I just wanted to prove that he wasn't the asshole everyone thought he was.”

“Then maybe it's for the best.”

Connor just watches Hank for a while, studies his face intensely.

“Wanna come in? Look for the wood?”

 

***

 

Markus arrives around midday at the community centre and he's far from the first to do so. Josh greets him at the door with reindeer antlers on his head and hands Markus a package full of juice boxes. From then on Markus just follows the noise to end up in a small hall, that is probably usually used for gatherings or hearings. People are putting up long tables and benches along with them or hang up different kinds of decorations. He spots Rose and her son and Traci with her girlfriend.

“You have to be Markus.” A woman with a beautiful blue hijab approaches him and they shake hands, as he nods with a smile.

She introduces herself as Lucy and apparently she is part of the LGBT Detroit board and co-organises this evening. She tells him, that if he can she would be happy if he could donate a small sum, to come up for the expenses of this evening.

“How much does this evening cost as a whole?”

“Give or take around 500 Dollars.” She hands him a card with the donations account.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

He finds Simon in the kitchen, where he puts down the juice boxes.

Markus touches his shoulder to greet him and Simon turns around. He wears on oversized ugly hanukkah sweater with a giant yellow menorah at the front.

“Hey.” They almost say in unison and share a laugh afterwards.

“Nice to see you wearing a shirt.” Simon nudges Markus’ chest with his fist, the touch barely noticeable.

“Yeah. Didn’t want to spoil the surprise.” Markus leans in, voice low and conspiratorial. “I got my bellybutton pierced just for this occasion, so I’d be really disappointed if no one would see that.”

Simon’s lips quiver in an attempt to suppress a laugh.

“That’s what I call dedication.”

They share a glance that is far longer than necessary.

“Okay, guys, if you’re done staring into each other’s eyes, could you maybe get to work? Mistletoes don’t magically appear on the walls, you know.” Josh’s mocking words comes out of nowhere.

 

They do end up hanging up mistletoes as well as garlands with all the different pride flags on them. They set the tables and chose sappy music that’s playing in the background. People are coming and going. Some just come in to lend a hand or bring donations of kind like food or candy, clothes or blankets. Some just settle down in different parts of the room with friends or alone. There’s teens with colourful hairdos, families with children that run around making a lot of noise, elderly couples bring in homemade cookies and Simon somehow seems to know everyone. Every single person greets him with kind words or hugs. There’s no real plan or schedule, it’s like a warm beehive with noises and chatter and laughter everywhere, nothing like the uptight family gatherings or christmas parties Markus is used to. It’s an imperfect perfection.

 

Markus has lost all feelings of time, when he finally settles down on a couple of pillows on the floor in one of the corners of the room. His ears are buzzing slightly.

He takes out his phone, smiling to himself and takes a picture of the room. He decorates it with some ridiculous Holiday stickers and sends it to North.

**[Merry Christmas.]**

A crowd of people starts pushing away benches and tables to make room for a dance floor and Last Christmas of all things starts to play.

“Enjoying yourself?” Simon crashes into the pillow mountain next to him and pushes a cup of mulled wine into his hands.

“It’s perfect.” Markus watches the people gather in the middle of the room, then he looks at Simon, who has his head tilted to the sight, eyes slightly squinted, and just watches him.

“What?” Markus frowns a little.

“Nothing. Just…” And without another word, Simon leans over and kisses him. It’s almost chaste, just a soft touching of their lips, barely long enough for Markus to feel the memory of warmth linger on his skin. “...needed to test something.” Simon ends his sentence and smirks a little, still close enough that his breath ghosts over Markus lips. Then he kisses him again, not chaste, but slow and deep this time, longing and Markus’ eyes fall shut, he sets his cup on the floor to wrap an arm around Simon’s middle and pull him closer.

“And did I pass?” Markus smirks, when they finally part, and keeps his voice low as if he would scare Simon away if he talked too loud.

“With flying colors.”

 

***

  


This is stupid.

On the list of stupid things Connor has done, this may be one of the most stupid things. It's not really bad. It's more the impulsive and not thought through kind of stupid.

The kind of stupid that makes him buy a gift bag and fill it with a liquor he got recommended and candy and candy for dogs and a small piece of wood, because he thinks he's funny.

The kind of stupid that makes him dress in the only tailored white button down he has with him and in a dark blue pair of tight fitting slacks.

He even cleans his glasses, which he usually avoids until seeing gets too difficult.

It's the kind of stupid that makes him knock on Hank's door at dawn on Christmas Eve. The decoration on the house and garden are a surprise. All of this screams family home so loud it already fills Connor with dread.

From the inside muffled noises can be heard, Sumo barks once, then there’s footsteps and the door opens. Hank’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. His hair is bound back in a loose ponytail and a pair of reading glasses sits on his nose. Connor tries to get a peek inside, but Hank blocks the path fully.

“Connor.” Hank is clearly taken by surprise, though it's hard to tell if it's a good or a bad one. The surprise quickly turns into nervousness and Connor almost waits for a wife to call him back into the house.

“Merry Christmas.” It's sounds so dumb and suddenly all he wants to do, is run away.

“I'm not alone.” Hank answers and it's clear he's not speaking about Sumo.

“I'm sorry, this was a bad idea. I'm gonna…”

“Who's there, Dad?” Following the voice a kid shoves himself in front of Hank, leans against him and gives Connor a curious look.

“Dad?” Connor echoes and tries not to sound too dumbfounded. His eyes quickly switch between the boy, who's about nine or ten, and Hank, who dishevels the kids hair in a loving gesture.

The answer is obvious. From the curls, to the piercing blue eyes and even down to the tooth gap.

“Yep.”

“Didn't know you were a…. Daddy…”

“Very funny.” Hank’s lips twitch slightly

“I'm Cole.” The boy offers Connor his hand and Connor takes it for a handshake.

“I'm Connor. I live next doors.” He greets with a smile.

“In Markus’ house?”

“Yes. But only for the Holidays.”

“Do you want to come in?”

Connor exchanges a look with Hank, who stays hard to read.

“I don't know.”

“Are you eating with your family later?”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then you can eat with us. He can, can't he?” Cole looks at his father and tucks at his hand. “We've got a duck.”

“Less unhealthy food for Sumo then, I suppose.” Is all Hank says, then he opens the door and steps away, inviting Connor in with a warm smile.

 

“Why didn't you tell me, you had a kid?”

Connor almost craves a cigarette now and tries very hard not to sound too reproachful. The evening has been perfect. The duck Hank has made, has tasted delicious and Cole is a delight to be around. He is smart witted and has the perfect boyish charm to wrap grown ups around his finger. He has even shown Connor his tree house, although it is mostly snowed in and Hank isn’t aloud to enter.

“When? I knew you'd run away screaming if you knew.”

“That's not...no! I wouldn't.” Connor objects immediately.

“Come on, how old are you? Twenty five?” The slight mockery in Hank’s voice feels like a punch in the gut.

“I'm 31! I'm not some undecided twenty something.”

“Connor, I don't tell my random shags about my son.”

“So that’s what I am? Just some random shag.”

Hank groans and runs a hand through his hair.

“I know what I am to you. I'm a screw to get over your ex. You get off on that scruffy old man thing and that's fine and it's hot, to be honest, but on New Year's, you'll be gone. You will think about the good shag you had in Surrey and get on with your life. I get it, okay? But I don't want my son to get into the middle of this. He was with his mom for a few days and when he is, I just allow myself to get carried away a little. Cole and I” Hank gestures in the direction of Cole’s bedroom.  “we’re a team.”

“You're an idiot.” Connor states. “Do you think I would come here and make a fool out of myself, if you were just some convenient lay? If I just wanted to get laid, I wouldn't have gone to fucking Surrey. I came here to clear my head and then you showed up with your stupid axe and your stupid dog and your stupid eyes and your stupid sexy arms. Okay, I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened.”

Hank stared at him for a while, then he presses his lips together, until a laugh bursts out of him.

“Stupid arms? Really?”

“Stop making fun of me!”

“Stupid sexy arms.” Hank’s eyes are teary and he's holding his belly now. “You really are something.”

“That's not funny.” Connor insists, but he feels a laugh bubble up inside him, too and has to bite his lip to keep it hidden.

They stand there like two laughing idiots for minutes, until Hank manages to calm down and a melancholic smile spreads over his lips.

“You won't even be here for New Year's, Connor. We literally met two days ago. Let's… let's just enjoy the days until then, okay?”

“Fine.” Something starts to hurt in Connor’s chest. Something he doesn’t know has been there before.

 

***

 

“Someone donated 5.000 Dollars to the Safe, Brave Space.”

There's something special about this moment. About the way Simon just sits there cross-legged on the bed that is nothing more than a mattress. He's naked, the blanket just barely covers his crotch. He's illuminated by sunlight, so the way his hair stands up unruly after just waking up  is even more obvious. It's a weird way of perfect and Markus just wants to cherish it. Wishes he could take a picture of this. Of the way his face lights up.

There's a moment where Markus considers not to tell him. Just let him belief that some anonymous person took care of it.

“I know.” Markus simply states.

“How can you know? Lucy just told me minutes ago.”

“Because I am the donor.”

There's silence for a few minutes and Simon just stares at him in disbelief. His mouth falls open.

“You're kidding, right?”

Markus sits up.

“No.”

“You donated 5.000 Dollars.”

“Yes.”

“How…?”

“Because I thought it was needed.”

“And you just … what? Talked to your accountant and have them move the money that's just lying around in your trust fund?” Simon stands up and picks up his pants from the floor to put them on.

“Basically yes.”

Simon puts on his shirt and just stares at him in disbelief.

“You're really not joking. Who the hell are you?”

“My father was a painter. I inherited a lot of money from him and I wanted to spend it on something good.”

“And you didn't think, you should have told me in advance? Before you wanted to make the donation?”

“It was meant to be a surprise. I thought you would be happy.” Markus puts his boxers on and gets up.

“It's quite a surprise. Everyone will worship the ground you walk on.”

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is, that I have no idea, who you are.” And with that he leaves.

 

***

 

Connor wakes up on the morning of New Years Eve and already feels like crying - a feeling that doesn’t leave him the whole day. It’s there, when he packs his bags and checks his flight online. It’s with him during lunch and when he calls the cab.

He has spent the last days mostly with Hank, since Cole was with his mother in London and would only return today, to celebrate New Year’s with his Dad, North, Kara and her daughter Alice.

They went on walks with Sumo and Hank showed him the town, the school were he works. Sometimes they met the others at the pub. They spent an afternoon on Hank’s couch watching sappy movies. They had breakfast in bed. Connor basically feels as if he has spent the last days in a dreamlike state. In a place between worlds, where he lives in a cottage in Surrey, where his job isn’t important. Where he doesn’t have to think about his mother’s judgemental looks. It’s also a place with great sex.

He heaves his bags into the cab with the driver’s help and looks back at the cottage, which’s keys he left on the dining table.

He watches it disappear, as he drives away, the cab heading for London.

They already have said goodbyes yesterday. No sappy or weird watching the other drive away. No crying. Just the weak promise, that they’ll try to keep in touch and Hank has kissed his forehead, so the soft hair of his beard has tickled his skin.

As the car passes the boundary of Surrey, Connor has to press his lips together, the urge to cry manifesting painfully in his throat, trying to crawl out.

Maybe it would have been doomed anyway.

With the child and the age difference.

Maybe the last days are just this blissful illusion of on alternate realty.

Something to remember in twenty years. That still gives you a warm feeling.

That makes you feel safe.

“Turn the car around.” It’s barely a mumble at first and the driver doesn’t react.

“Turn the car around.” Connor repeats, louder this time and yanks out his phone to diale his brother’s phone number.

“Did you forget something?” The cabbie searches for his eyes in the driving mirror.

“Yes!” Connor almost shouts. “Now can you turn the damn car around?”

 

***

 

Three days Markus has spent with staring at his phone or his door or check his mail. Three days since Simon left the apartment without another word. At first he has been sure, that he just needed some time to come around.

But now three days have passed and the New year starts in an hour and Simon hasn’t tried to contact him yet.

Markus leaves the apartment on an impulse. He has had two beers feeling sorry for himself, while he sat on the floor and watched Netflix. He hasn’t showered today or shaved in days. He still wears his ugliest sweatpants and his hoodie has chocolate stains on it. He arrives at Jericho, where Simon has planned to celebrate the evening at, ten minutes before midnight.

He finds Traci and Jerry on the dancefloor, but no one can tell him, where Simon is, they only point him in Josh's direction at the bar.

“Simon’s not here.” He greets, before Markus has any chance to even ask him. “He left twenty minutes ago.”

Markus groans. “Bloody hell.”

“Okay, I know you guys have this … thing going on and then your thing stopped because you donated a lot of money, because apparently you’re some british royal or something..”

“I’m not…”

Josh ignores his objections and just goes on. “I also know that he really likes you and apart from being some kind of disney princess, you seem to be a good person. So why don’t you go look for him at his home. Maybe he’s there.”

In a sudden impulse he pulls Josh into a hug.

“Thanks, mate.”

“You need a shower.” Josh pets his shoulder in sympathy.

“I know.”

 

Simon has not been at home. Markus knocked and ringed without success and eventually given up.

The walk home feels eternal.

Groups of drunk people run into him and make him realize how he completely missed midnight and he can’t even bring himself to care one bit about it. He slides the hood of his jacket off, when he reaches the top of the stairs. He hasn’t even cared enough to light up the hallway.

So of course he almost steps onto the person, who sleeps leaning against his apartment door and stirs awake, when Markus' foot collides with their leg.

“Happy New Year.” Simon says immediately, blinking rapidly, as Markus turns the lights on and just stares at him. Next to Simon on the floor is a bottle of sparkling wine, a small box with the emblem of Simon’s bakery and a wrinkled piece of familiar clothing

Markus lowers himself down on the floor next to Simon and leans against the door.

“Is that my shirt?” He points at the grey cloth.

Simon has the decency to slightly blush.

“Maybe.”

“You purchased my shirt at the auction for twenty bloody dollars?”

“I would have paid 5000, but not everybody can be that rich.” Simon pops up the bottle of sparkling wine and holds it up for a toast. “Happy belated new year.” He takes a sip out of the bottle, before he hands it over to Markus, who follows his example. “I’m sorry, I overreacted. You did something good.” He reaches for the box and opens it to reveal a delicious looking cake with frosting that looks like fireworks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first.” Markus hands the bottle back. “I got carried away… I just… I just felt like I belong somewhere. That I could really help someone for once.”

“Why don’t we go in and eat the delicious cake I made?” Simon leans against his shoulder. Markus searches his pocket for the key.

“I fear we can’t.” Markus can’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. “I locked myself out.”

“They didn’t teach you lockpicking at Buckingham Palace?”

“Shut up.” And he pulls Simon into kiss.

 

***

 

Connor knocks on Hank’s door. He does it once, then twice, then he just keeps knocking forcefully, until the door opens and he almost stumbles against North.

“Shouldn’t you be on a plane or something?”

“Can you please get Hank?” He sounds like a beggar, but he can’t bring himself to care about that. Not even about the frown that he earns from her. “Please, North. I really need to talk to him.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She eyes him for a second, then seems to make a decision. “Hank, someone’s here for you.” She shouts inside the house and to Connor’s complete surprise winks at him. “Good luck, boy wonder.” And she leaves.

It feels like an eternity for Hank to arrive. Connor can hear him ask “Who is it?” followed by North’s “I got you a stripper.” Kara scolding her and Cole asking “What is a stripper?”

Finally he appears in the door frame, eyes wide with surprise.

“Not a stripper. Sorry.” Connor chews on his bottom lip.

“What are you doing here? You’re missing your flight!”

“Yes, that’s because I’m not leaving.”

Hank’s stares at him as if has grown a second head.

“What?”

“I’m not leaving. I’ll look for jobs in London, so we can see each other on the weekends and I can get to know Cole, if you want. Because I’d really like to know him better and know you better and your friends and…”

“Connor…”

“Shut up and let me talk. I’m not leaving. This…” Connor gestures between the two of them. “...is the best thing that happened to me. You make me feel safe. Not like some dirty secret or a nuisance. So if you want me gone, you have to tie me up and take me on a plane yourself, because…”

And then there’s nothing more to say. Not because he has nothing more to say, but because Hank has taken his face into both of his large warm hands and stopped his tirade by pressing his lips onto his. There’s nothing Connor can do, but sigh in relief. He covers Hank’s hands with his and melts into him.

He has no idea, how long they are standing there, lips locked, but barely moving, but when they finally part, it has started to snow and big white flakes are melting in Hank’s hair.

“You’re one stubborn son of a bitch.” Hank still makes no move to let go of Connor’s face. A thumb slowly caresses his cheekbone.

“I guess that’s a good thing.” Connor presses his lips together.

Hank smirks and breathes a kiss on his forehead.

“Want to come in?”

“I would love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> What even are time zones? I don’t know her. (Obviously the alternating parts don’t take place the same time)  
> Anyway, this is loosely based on the RomCom “The Holidays” from 2006, which I highly recommend.  
> This was neither brit picked nor beta’d by an american, but hopefully enjoyable anyway.  
> Also LGBT Detroit exists and you can find out more about them here https://www.lgbtdetroit.org/ 
> 
> Come talk to me at Twitter (@ItsAnotherBird) or Tumblr (the-other-bird).


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